His Revenge is Never Over
by Abbl2
Summary: Boo Radley was there to save the children that fateful night, but Bob Ewell was not killed. He is still on the loose, and Jem and Scout are more vounerable then ever. Atticus will do everything he can to protect them, but will that be enough? And what about those mysterious death notes he has been getting? Rated K for minimal violence
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The actual text and my additions are all mixed together. If you are interested in seeing which is which, I can tell you, or you can pick up the book and find out for yourself.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own To Kill a Mockingbird. That pleasure belongs to Harper Lee.**

"Jem, are you afraid?"

"No. Think we're almost to the tree now. Few yards from that an' we'll be to the road. We can see the street light then." Jem was talking in an unhurried, flat toneless voice. I wondered how long he would try to keep the Cecil myth going.

"You reckon we oughta sing, Jem?"

"No. Be real quiet again, Scout."

We had not increased our pace. Jem knew as well as I that it was difficult to walk fast without stumping a toe, tripping on stones, and other inconveniences, and I was barefooted. Maybe it was the wind rustling the trees. But there wasn't any wind and there weren't any trees accept the big oak.

Our company shuffled and dragged his feet, as if wearing heavy shoes. Whoever it was wore thick cotton pants; what I thought were trees rustling was the soft swish of cotton on cotton, wheek, wheek, with every step.

I felt the sand go cold under my feet and I knew we were near the big oak. Jem pressed my head. We stopped and listened.

Shuffle-foot had not stopped with us this time. His trousers swished softly and steadily. Then they stopped. He was running, running toward us with no child's steps.

"Run, Scout! Run! Run!" Jem screamed.

I took one giant step and found myself reeling: my arms useless, in the dark, I could not keep my balance.

"Jem, Jem, help me, Jem!"

Something crushed the chicken wire around me. Metal ripped on metal and I fell to the ground and rolled as far as I could, floundering to escape my wire prison. From somewhere nearby came scuffling, kicking sounds, sounds of shoes and flesh scraping dirt and roots. Someone rolled against me and I felt Jem. He was up like lightning and pulling me with him but, though my head and shoulders were free, I was so entangled we didn't get very far.

We were nearly to the road when I felt Jem's hand leave me, felt him jerk backwards to the ground. More scuffling, and there came a dull crunching sound and Jem screamed. There was a slashing sound and Jem screamed again. I could hear the sound of tearing flesh.

I ran in the direction of Jem's scream and sank into a flabby male stomach. Its owner said, "Uff!" and tried to catch my arms, but they were tightly pinioned. His stomach was soft but his harms were like steel. He slowly squeezed the breath out of me. I could not move. Suddenly he was jerked backwards and flung on the ground, almost carrying me with him. I thought, Jem's up.

One's mind works very slowly at times. Stunned, I stood there dumbly. In front of me, I could hear more scuffling, but I couldn't see anything. Then came a smack against flesh. Someone had been hit.

Suddenly, the sounds stopped. I could hear someone running away, and then just heavy breathing in front of me.

"Jem?"

There was no answer but the man's heavy breathing.

"Jem?"

Jem didn't answer.

I suddenly became aware of another presence, and realized that the person who was holding off our attacker was not Jem. This was someone else entirely.

"Atticus?"

No answer.

I made my way along in what I thought was direction of the road. I was not sure, because I had been turned around so many times. But I found it, and looked down to the streetlight. A man was passing under it. The man was walking with the staccato steps of someone carrying a load too heavy for him. He was going around the corner. He was carrying Jem. Jem's arm was dangling crazily in front of him.

By the time I reached the corner the man was crossing our front yard. Light from our front door framed Atticus for an instant; he ran down the steps and together, he and the man took Jem inside.

I was at the front door when they were going down the hall. Aunt Alexandra was running to meet me. "Call Dr. Renyolds!" Atticus's voice came sharply from Jem's room. "Where's Scout?"

"Here she is," Aunt Alexandra called, pulling me along with her to the telephone. She tugged at me anxiously. "I'm all right, Aunty," I said, "you better call."

She pulled the receiver from the hook and said, "Eula May, get Dr. Reynolds, quick!"

"Agnes, is your father home? Oh God, where is he? Please tell him to come over here as soon as he comes in. Please, it's urgent!"

There was no need for Aunt Alexandra to identify herself, people in Maycomb knew each other's voices.

Atticus came out of Jem's room. The moment Aunt Alexandra broke the connection, Atticus took the receiver from her. He rattled the hook, then said, "Eula May, get me the sheriff, please."

"Heck? Atticus Finch. Someone's been after my children. Jem's hurt. Between here and the schoolhouse. I can't leave my boy. Run out there for me, please, and see if he's still around. Doubt if you'll find him now, but I'd like to see him if you do. Got to go now. Thanks, Heck."

"Atticus, is Jem dead?"

"No, Scout. Look after her, sister," he called, as he went down the hall.

Aunt Alexandra's fingers trembled as she unwound the crushed fabric and wire from around me. "Are you all right, darling?" she asked over and over as she worked me free. It was a relief to be out. My arms were beginning to tingle, and they were red with small hexagonal marks. I rubbed them, and they felt better.

"Aunty, is Jem dead?"

"No—no, darling, he's unconscious. We won't know how badly he's hurt until Dr. Reynolds gets here. Jean Louise, what happened?"

"I don't know."

She left it at that. She brought me something to put on, and had I thought about it then, I would have never let her forget it: in her distraction, Aunty brought me my overalls. "Put these on, darling," she said, handing me the garments she most despised.

She rushed back to Jem's room, then came to me in the hall. She patted me vaguely, and went back to Jem's room.

A car stopped in front of the house. I knew Dr. Reynolds's step almost as well as my father's. He had brought Jem and me into the world, had led us through every childhood disease known to man including the time Jem fell out of the tree house, and he had never lost our friendship. Dr. Reynolds said if we had been boil-prone things would have been different, but we doubted it.

He came in the door and said, "Good Lord." He walked toward me, said, "You're still standing," and changed his course. He knew every room in the house. He also knew that if I was in bad shape, so was Jem.

After ten forevers Dr. Reynolds returned. "Is Jem dead?" I asked.

"Far from it," he said, squatting down to me. "He's got a bump on the head just like yours, and a broken arm, and his chest is cut up pretty badly. Scout, look that way—no, don't turn your head, roll your eyes. Now look over yonder. He's got a bad break, so far as I can tell now it's in the elbow. Like somebody tried to wring his arm off… Now look at me."

"Then he's not dead?"

"No-o!" Dr. Reynolds got to his feet. "We can't do much tonight," he said, "except try to make him as comfortable as we can. We'll have to X-ray his arm—looks like he'll be wearing his arm 'way out by his side for a while, and the cut'll heal, though it's so deep it'll probably scar. Don't worry, though, he'll be as good as new. Boys his age bounce."

While he was talking, Dr. Reynolds had been looking keenly at me, lightly fingering the bump that was coming on my forehead. "You don't feel broke anywhere, do you?"

Dr. Reynolds's small joke made me smile. "Then you don't think he's dead, then?"

He put on his hat. "Now I may be wrong, of course, but I think he's very alive. Shows all the symptoms of it. Go have a look at him, and when I come back we'll get together and decide."

Dr. Reynolds's step was young and brisk. Mr. Heck Tate's was not. His heavy boots punished the porch and he opened the door awkwardly, but he said the same thing Dr. Reynolds said when he came in. "You all right, Scout?" he added.

"Yes sir, I'm goin' in to see Jem. Atticus'n'them's in there."

"I'll go with you," said Mr. Tate.

Aunt Alexandra had shaded Jem's reading light with a towel, and his room was dim. Jem was lying on his back. There was an ugly mark along one side of his face. His left arm lay out from his body; his elbow was bent slightly, but in the wrong direction. Jem was frowning. But that wasn't what alarmed me. The front of his shirt was stained in blood.

"Jem…?"

Atticus spoke. "He can't hear you, Scout, he's out like a light. He was coming around, but Dr. Reynolds put him out again."

"Yes sir." I retreated. Jem's room was large and square. Aunt Alexandra was sitting in a rocking-chair by the fireplace. The man who brought Jem in was standing in a corner, leaning against the wall. His hands were bloodstained from carrying Jem. He was some countryman I did not know. He had probably been at the pageant, and was in the vicinity when it happened. He must have heard our screams and come running.

Atticus was standing by Jem's bed.

Mr. Heck Tate stood in the doorway. His hat was in his hand, and a flashlight bulged from his pants pocket. He was in his working clothes.

"Come in, Heck," said Atticus. "Did you find anything? I can't conceive of anyone low-down enough to do a thing like this, but I hope you found him."

Mr. Tate sniffed. He glanced sharply at the man in the corner, nodded to him, then looked around the room—at Jem, at Aunt Alexandra, then at Atticus.

"Sit down, Mr. Finch," he said pleasantly.

Atticus said, "Let's all sit down. Have that chair, Heck. I'll get another one from the living room."

Mr. Tate sat in Jem's desk chair. He waited until Atticus returned and settled himself. I wondered why Atticus had not brought a chair for the man in the corner, but Atticus knew the ways of country people far better than I. Some of his rural clients would park their long-eared steeds under the chinaberry trees in the back yard, and Atticus would often keep appointments on the back steps. This one was probably more comfortable where he was.

"Mr. Finch," said Mr. Tate, "tell you what I found. I found a little girl's dress—it's out there in my car. That your dress, Scout?"

"Yes sir, if it's a pink one with smockin'," I said. Mr. Tate was behaving as if he were on the witness stand. He liked to tell things his own way, untrammeled by state or defense, and sometimes it took him a while.

"I found some funny-looking pieces of muddy-colored cloth—"

"That's m'costume, Mr. Tate." Mr. Tate ran his hands down his thighs. He rubbed his left arm and investigated Jem's mantelpiece, then he seemed to be interested in the fireplace. His fingers sought his long nose.

"What is it, Heck?" said Atticus.

Mr. Tate found his neck and rubbed it. "That wasn't all I found Atticus, although you won't be happy when I show it to you." He cleared his throat. "I know who attacked your children."

He reached in his back pocket, and took out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Atticus.

Atticus took the paper and looked it over. After a moment his face turned deathly pale and his hands began to shake. I have never seen him look so scared. I went over to him and peered over his arm to try and read what it said.

It was written in what looked like chicken scratch and it was hard to distinguish. But I was eventually able to decipher the words.

_Atticus,_

_I hope this attack has made you realize that I mean business. Don't ever underestimate me, because this will happen again. No one ever makes a fool out of me and gets away with it. Keep on your toes. I will be waiting._

_Bob Ewell_

My heart started to beat a little bit faster. Somehow, I could think of nothing but Mr. Bob Ewell saying that he would get Atticus if it took the rest of his life. How true this statement seemed to us now.

I looked up at Atticus. His age was beginning to show, his one sign of inner turmoil, the strong line of his jaw melted a little, one became aware of telltale creases forming under his ears, one noticed not his jet-black hair but the gray patches growing at his temples. He passed the note to Aunt Alexandra who took it with shaking hands, for she too could see the effects of the note on her brother. Atticus then looked at Mr. Tate.

"Heck," he said, "is this all you found?"

Mr. Tate nodded solemnly.

"I'm afraid so, Atticus. There was no sign of Mr. Ewell anywhere. I saw where the fight took place, just under the oak and Jem's blood was on the grass, but there was nothing else. He's gone, Atticus."

With this new piece of information, Atticus visibly seemed to shrink. His shoulders slumped and he sat down next to Jem on the bed. He put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself, and I tried hard to give him all of my strength, though there wasn't much left of it. He looked more scared than I felt, and it made me think that there was something he wasn't telling me.

Meanwhile, Mr. Tate was still talking. "We will of course be doing everything in our power to catch him. He can't have gotten far, and I have men searching everywhere for him. We'll find him, Atticus."

Atticus nodded his head in thanks as Aunt Alexandra cleared her throat.

"Hadn't we better go to the living room?" Aunt Alexandra said.

"If you don't mind," said Mr. Tate, "I'd rather us stay in here if it won't hurt Jem any. I want to have a look at his injuries while Scout… tells us about it."

"Is it all right if I leave?" she asked. "I'm just one person too many in here. I'll be in my room if you want me, Atticus." Aunt Alexandra went to the door, but she stopped and turned. "Atticus, I had a feeling about this tonight—I—this is my fault," she began. "I should have—"

Mr. Tate held up his hand. "You go ahead, Miss Alexandra, I know it's been a shock to you. And don't you fret yourself about anything—why, if we followed our feelings all the time we'd be like cats chasin' their tails. Miss Scout, see if you can tell us what happened, while it's still fresh in your mind. You think you can? Did you see him following you?"

I went to Atticus and felt his arms go around me. I buried my head in his lap. "We started home. I said Jem, I've forgot m'shoes. Soon's we started back for 'em the lights went out. Jem said I could get 'em tomorrow…"

"Scout, raise up so Mr. Tate can hear you," Atticus said. I crawled into his lap.

"Then Jem said hush a minute. I thought he was thinkin'—he always wants you to hush so he can think—then he said he heard somethin'. We thought it was Cecil."

"Cecil?"

"Cecil Jacobs. He scared us once tonight, an' we thought it was him again. He had on a sheet. They gave a quarter for the best costume, I don't know who won it—"

"Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?"

"Just a little piece from the schoolhouse. I yelled somethin' at him—"

"You yelled, what?"

"Cecil Jacobs is a big fat hen, I think. We didn't hear nothin'—then Jem yelled hello or somethin' loud enough to wake the dead—"

"Just a minute, Scout," said Mr. Tate. "Mr. Finch, did you hear them?" Atticus said he didn't. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra had hers going in her bedroom. He remembered because she told him to turn his down a bit so she could hear hers. Atticus smiled. "I always play a radio too loud."

"I wonder if the neighbors heard anything…" said Mr. Tate.

"I doubt it, Heck. Most of them listen to their radios or go to bed with the chickens. Maudie Atkinson may have been up, but I doubt it."

"Go ahead, Scout," Mr. Tate said.

"Well, after Jem yelled we walked on. Mr. Tate, I was shut up in my costume but I could hear it myself, then. Footsteps, I mean. They walked when we walked and stopped when we stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some kind of shiny paint on my costume. I was a ham."

"How's that?" asked Mr. Tate, startled. Atticus described my role to Mr. Tate, plus the construction of my garment.

"You should have seen her when she came in," he said, "it was crushed to a pulp." Mr. Tate rubbed his chin.

"Let me see that thing if you will, sir." Atticus fetched the remains of my costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and bent it around to get an idea of its former shape. "This thing probably saved her life," he said. "Look."

He pointed with a long forefinger. A shiny clean line stood out on the dull wire. "Bob Ewell said he meant business," Mr. Tate muttered.

"He was out of his mind," said Atticus.

"Don't like to contradict you, Mr. Finch—wasn't crazy, mean as hell. Low-down skunk with enough liquor in him to make him brave enough to kill children. He'd never have met you face to face."

Atticus shook his head. "I can't conceive of a man who'd—"

"Mr. Finch, there's just some kind of men you have to shoot before you can say hidy to 'em. Even then, they ain't worth the bullet it takes to shoot 'em. Ewell 'as one of 'em."

Atticus said, "I thought he got it all out of him the day he threatened me. Even if he hadn't, I thought he'd come after me."

"He had guts enough to pester a poor colored woman, he had guts enough to pester Judge Taylor when he thought the house was empty, so do you think he'da met you to your face in daylight?" Mr. Tate sighed. "We'd better get on. Scout, you heard him behind you—"

"Yes sir. When we got under the tree—"

"How'd you know you were under the tree, you couldn't see thunder out there."

"I was barefooted, and Jem says the ground's always cooler under a tree."

"We'll have to make him a deputy, go ahead."

"Then all of a sudden somethin' grabbed me an' mashed my costume… think I ducked on the ground… heard a tusslin' under the tree sort of… they were bammin' against the trunk, sounded like. Jem found me and started pullin' me toward the road. Some—Mr. Ewell yanked him down, I reckon. They tussled some more and then there was this funny noise—Jem hollered…" I stopped. That was Jem's arm, then his chest I reckoned.

"Anyway, Jem hollered and I didn't hear him anymore an' the next thing—Mr. Ewell was tryin' to squeeze me to death, I reckon… then somebody yanked Mr. Ewell down. Jem must have got up, I guess. That's all I know…"

"And then?" Mr. Tate was looking at me sharply. "Somebody was staggerin' around and pantin'. Thought it was Jem at first, but it didn't sound like him, so I went lookin' for Jem on the ground. I thought Atticus had come to help us and had got wore out—"

"Who was it?"

"Why there he is, Mr. Tate, he can tell you his name." As I said it, I half pointed to the man in the corner, but brought my arm down quickly lest Atticus reprimand me for pointing. It was impolite to point.

He was still leaning against the wall. He had been leaning against the wall when I came into the room, his arms folded across his chest. As I pointed he brought his arms down and pressed the palms of his hands against the wall. They were white hands, sickly white hands that had never seen the sun, so white they stood out garishly against the dull cream wall in the dim light of Jem's room.

I looked from his hands to his sand-stained khaki pants; my eyes traveled up his thin frame to his torn denim shirt. His face was as white as his hands, but for a shadow on his jutting chin. His cheeks were thin to hollowness; his mouth was wide; there were shallow, almost delicate indentations at his temples, and his gray eyes were so colorless I thought he was blind. His hair was dead and thin, almost feathery on top of his head.

When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. A strange small spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrape slate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's image blurred with my sudden tears.

"Hey, Boo," I said.

"Mr. Arthur, honey," said Atticus, gently correcting me. "Jean Louise, this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you."

If Atticus could blandly introduce me to Boo Radley at a time like this, well—that was Atticus.

Boo saw me run instinctively to the bed where Jem was sleeping, for the same shy smile crept across his face. Hot with embarrassment, I tried to cover up by covering Jem up.

"Ah-ah, don't touch him," Atticus said.

Mr. Heck Tate sat looking intently at Boo through his horn-rimmed glasses. He was about to speak when Dr. Reynolds came down the hall.

"Everybody out," he said, as he came in the door. "Evenin', Arthur, didn't notice you the first time I was here."

Dr. Reynolds's voice was as breezy as his step, as though he had said it every evening of his life, an announcement that astounded me even more than being in the same room with Boo Radley. Of course… even Boo Radley got sick sometimes, I thought. But on the other hand I wasn't sure.

Dr. Reynolds was carrying a big package wrapped in newspaper. He put it down on Jem's desk and took off his coat. "You're quite satisfied he's alive, now? Tell you how I knew. When I tried to examine him he kicked me. Had to put him out good and proper to touch him. So scat," he said to me.

"Er—" said Atticus, glancing at Boo. "Heck, let's go out on the front porch. There are plenty of chairs out there, and it's still warm enough."

I wondered why Atticus was inviting us to the front porch instead of the living room, and then I understood. The living room lights were awfully strong.

We filed out, first Mr. Tate—Atticus was waiting at the door for him to go ahead of him. Then he changed his mind and followed Mr. Tate.

People have a habit of doing everyday things even under the oddest conditions. I was no exception: "Come along, Mr. Arthur," I heard myself saying, "you don't know the house real well. I'll just take you to the porch, sir."

He looked down at me and nodded.

I led him through the hall and past the living room.

"Won't you have a seat, Mr. Arthur? This rocking-chair's nice and comfortable."

My small fantasy about him was alive again: he would be sitting on the porch… right pretty spell we're having, isn't it, Mr. Arthur?

Yes, a right pretty spell. Feeling slightly unreal, I led him to the chair farthest from Atticus and Mr. Tate. It was in deep shadow. Boo would feel more comfortable in the dark.

Atticus was sitting in the swing, and Mr. Tate was in a chair next to him. The light from the living room windows was strong on them. I sat beside Boo.

It was silent for a long while. Then, Mr. Tate spoke up.

"Of course, we'll have protection on your house 24/7 until he is caught, in case Mr. Ewell does decide to make his return." But Atticus shook his head, his selfless streak returning to him.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, Heck," he began, "I want this event erased from the minds of my children as soon as possible, and having police escorting them everywhere they go will do them no help."

Mr. Tate looked like he was about to argue, but Atticus continued. "I will protect Jem and Scout."

Mr. Tate shook his head. "But who will protect you, Atticus?"

Atticus laughed, though it was hallow sounding, as though he couldn't quite remember how. "I am a fully grown man, Heck. I think I am capable of taking care of myself."

"Don't be so sure," Mr. Tate said. "You can't deny that you're getting old, Atticus. Your senses aren't as sharp as they used to be. Don't you think you're leaving too much to chance?"

Atticus took on a more serious expression.

"Bob Ewell made it clear that targeting my children would be his form of revenge on me. No matter how old I am, I will never let an event like this happen again. I will keep them safe, Heck."

Mr. Tate sighed and stood up.

"Very well, Atticus. If you insist. But I will send a few men to serve as protection from a distance. Jem and Scout will not be hindered by them. If you see anything suspicious, do not hesitate to call me, no matter how remote or unrelated it may seem, you hear?"

Atticus smiled and nodded.

"Of course, Heck," he said. "I will keep you informed."

"Good."

Mr. Tate stretched his hands behind his head and yawned loudly.

"I best be on my way. It is quite late. I'll just check on the boy before I go."

"Thank you, Heck, for all you've done tonight."

Mr. Tate smiled. "Goodnight Atticus," he said. "Goodnight Scout," he said, looking at me. "Feel better sweetheart."

Then, he turned to Boo Radley.

"Arthur," he began. Boo tensed at the mention of his name and looked up at Mr. Tate. "Your help tonight is greatly appreciated by everyone. You saved these two children, and we are all very thankful. Thank you son."

Boo nodded nervously. Mr. Tate tilted his head in goodbye and walked down the steps towards his car.

As soon as he was gone, I raced to Atticus' side and wrapped my arms around his neck. Atticus put his face in my hair and rubbed it. When he got up and walked across the porch into the shadows, his youthful step had returned. Before he went inside the house, he stopped in front of Boo Radley. "Thank you for my children, Arthur," he said. Then, he went inside the house.

**A/N: Now read the final two pages of to kill a mockingbird, because I don't want to paste it on here. I really love this book. It makes me so happy and excited. The suspense of the last few chapters was so intense I get shivers every time I read it. I am so happy we had to read the book for English, although I didn't much like the work that went along with it. Speaking of English, I should be doing the homework for that class, (Romeo and Juliet scene outline) but I don't want to. Atticus is my favorite character of all time. He is an amazing father to his kids, which will make him fun to torture. Anyway, updates for this will be slow and there will be times where you don't expect any to come at all, but I will try my best. The school year is winding to a close, which means exams, but I will try to update this story. This chapter was mostly text, but next chapter won't be at all. Reviews? I know there isn't much yet.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**The last few pages in the book are as written. I didn't want to rewrite them here. I had done that enough.**

Jem was still asleep when I woke up. Atticus hadn't left his room all night. Keeping watch over Jem, most like.

I sometimes get the feeling that Atticus thinks that if he isn't there with us that we'll jus' upright and break on him. We aren't that fragile. I suppos' he has reason to considering what's been happening as of late.

I guess I was still worried about Jem, so the first thing I did when I got up was walk to his room and open the door a little so that I could peer inside. My vision was blurry from just having woke up, so I stumbled a bit as I walked. Jem was still out like a light, but Atticus was wide awake sitting in a chair beside his bed, watching over him. As soon as I opened the door, he looked up from his night long vigil and smiled at me. It was a half smile, but it was still something. I grinned back.

He motioned for me to come and sit on his lap. I did happily, and he pulled me closer. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and almost instantly wanted to fall asleep knowing that I had Atticus' protection. But I kept myself awake as Atticus began talking.

"Your brother is going to be just fine, Scout."

"I know, Atticus," I replied. "But when will he wake up?"

Atticus looked at Jem and thought for a moment. "Soon," he said. "Although I wish he would sleep longer. He's going to be sore when he does eventually wake up."

I looked at Jem again, this time more closely and with clear eyes.

Although it was better than last night, you could still tell he'd been attacked. The wound on his chest had been cleaned and covered with bandages, which you could only see because Dr. Reynolds had taken off his shirt. His arm had been wrapped as had his head. What was showing of his face had turned blue and purple overnight, and red marks were everywhere. He looked like he belonged in a hospital bed, not in this room where he likes to read or does his homework. Not in this place that is his sanctuary.

Atticus looked at me like he could read my thoughts. I wrapped my arms tighter around him.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now, sweetheart," he said. "But things will get better. Jem will get better, and Mr. Tate and the police will find Mr. Ewell. He won't be bothering us after that."

"Atticus?"

"Yes?"

"Is Mr. Ewell gonna go to jail?"

"Of course, Scout. He hurt you and Jem; he tried to kill you. What he did was wrong, and he broke the law. He's going to jail."

"But what about that note you got from him?"

Atticus stiffened. "Pay no mind to that, Scout. That was just an empty threat. He got his revenge, and he knows it's over." Atticus paused. "Nevertheless, I want you and Jem to stay out of trouble for the next few weeks and don't draw attention to yourselves. The sooner we get this whole mess figured out, the better. In the meantime, you two must be extremely careful." Atticus shuddered. "Goodness knows what I would do if something like this ever happened to you again. I would lose myself."

He spoke so softly, that it would've been impossible to hear him if I wasn't leaning against him. It had never occurred to me what these dangers we had gotten ourselves in were doing to him. Now, it was easier to see. He looked much older, even though he's quite old to begin with. His clothes were ruffled, and his hair was too and in it you could see streaks of grey. His eyes looked tired and scared and relieved all at the same time.

When he saw me looking, he straightened up and tried to make himself look more presentable. He didn't want me to see him like this.

Suddenly, there was movement from Jem's bed, and Jem moaned. Atticus and I quickly turned our attention to my injured brother.

Jem's eyelids were fluttering, and he had a pained expression on his face. Atticus quickly set me down off of his lap and kissed my forehead.

"I'll be right back, honey," he explained. "I have to go make a call to Dr. Reynolds to tell him Jem is waking up. You'll wait here for me? And don't let him move in case he damages his stitches."

I nodded. "Of course Atticus," I said, proud to be entrusted with such an important job. Atticus smiled gratefully, and kissed me again.

"I won't be gone long," he said as he hastily exited the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Jem's eyes opened and he moaned loudly, his face contorting painfully. Out in the hallway, I could hear Atticus talking on the phone to Dr. Reynolds.

Jem was trying to sit up, but I put my hand on his good arm. He looked at me, his eyes confused and hazy.

"Oh no Jem, you mustn't sit up," I said sternly. "Atticus and Dr. Reynolds said you had to lie down or else you'll damage your stitches." Jem lay back down on the bed slowly.

"Scout," he said softly. "W-what happened? Why is there a bump on your forehead?"

I laughed. "I look a lot better than you do."

Jem's expression grew sour, like he'd just swallowed a lemon. I laughed harder.

"It's true," I said. Jem's frown curved deeper.

"Fetch me a mirror, Scout," he said. I shook my head.

"Atticus said not to leave this room, and to keep you from getting up while he called Dr. Reynolds."

Jem sighed, exasperated. Then he gazed around the room. His eyes lit up when he spotted what he was looking for.

"Then can you at least get me that spoon over there?" he asked, pointing at the dresser with his good arm.

I obliged and stood up, walking to the dresser to pick up the dirty spoon that was sitting in a half eaten bowl of soup. I didn't know whose it was, but I licked it clean and handed it to Jem just as Atticus walked in.

Jem grabbed the spoon and stared at his reflection in the silver. As we watched, he tilted the spoon in different angles to try and see his reflection better. Finally, he sighed and put the spoon down. He looked up at Atticus.

"What happened to us, Atticus?" he asked, sounding very small and very un-Jem like.

"What do you mean, son?" he replied. "Don't you remember what happened last night?" Suddenly, Jem's eyes got wide as the realization dawned on him and he looked down at his arm.

"We were attacked," he murmured. Atticus nodded. "He broke my arm, and gave Scout that bump."

I snorted. "He did more than that, I can assure you." I was about to say more, but Atticus glared at me.

"Did you find out who-"

"It was Mr. Ewell, Jem," Atticus answered his question before he even finished asking. "Mr. Ewell was drunk and angry and so he came and took out his frustration on you." I noticed he didn't tell Jem about the threatening note. "But he's still out there, and while the police are looking for him, you and Scout have got to stay together and close to the house. I don't want you two to be walking alone, or at night from now on."

Jem looked ready to argue, but he just bowed his head and nodded.

"Yes sir," he said.

"Thank you son," Atticus said. "I'll have Mrs. Maudie keep an eye on things outside while I'm at work, and while I'm working, you best tell Cal where you are and what you're doing. Understand?" We both nodded. Atticus sighed, and pulled me over to his side. He kneeled down and gave me a hug.

"I just don't want to lose you," he said quietly, and kissed my forehead. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Don't worry Atticus," I said. "We'll be careful."

"Yeah," added Jem. "I won't let anyone hurt Scout ever again, especially not old Mr. Ewell. I won't be so weak next time."

Atticus turned and placed a hand on Jem's shoulder, but kept one arm around me. "You aren't weak Jem," he said. "Scout told me what happened. You kept your head and were very brave. I'm proud of you son."

Jem blushed scarlet. It took all the self control I had to keep from laughing. Thank goodness at that moment Aunt Alexandria came in and seeing Jem sitting up, she shrieked. She rushed over to his bedside and took his good hand. It was getting quite crowded in Jem's little room.

"Jem!" she squealed softly. "You're awake! Oh thank heavens!" She turned to Atticus.

"Dr. Reynolds is in the kitchen. He wants to talk to you, Atticus, before he sees Jem."

Atticus nodded and stood up. "I'll be back in a minute." Then he left.

Alexandria sighed and shook her head. "Poor man," she said. "So much has happened that has turned his hairs grey and given him more reason to worry. Your father worries so much about you two, you know. And now this! These kinds of things shouldn't be happening to a man his age. Not good for the heart you see. Why I wouldn't be surprised if he collapsed of a heart attack this very afternoon!"

My eyes went wide with horror. Atticus, die? It was impossible. Atticus could never die, could he? He was invincible! Nothing could ever happen to him. But here was Alexandria, talking about it like it could happen tomorrow! Jem's expression was a look of horror, and I could imagine mine looked much the same way.

When she saw this, she bit her lip, and tried to cover it up. "Of course, that won't actually happen. It's just the stress of living like this has to have taken its toll on your father, and he could really use your help once you get better. So try not to get into any trouble: for your father's sake."

If getting into trouble would hurt Atticus, then trouble would be the furthest thing from my mind. Jem and I shared a look and silently agreed that we would make sure Atticus wouldn't worry about us. We wouldn't give him cause to.

Just then, Atticus and Dr. Reynolds came in. The room was once again quite crowded. At the sight of Jem awake, Dr. Reynolds smiled. Aunt Alexandria moved out of the way and Dr. Reynolds went to sit in the chair by his bed.

"Hello, Jem," he said cheerily. "I see you're awake. Are you feeling alright?"

Jem looked quickly at Atticus and then back at Dr. Reynolds. "Yes sir. I'm feeling fine."

"That's wonderful!" exclaimed Dr. Reynolds. "I just need to check your arm and your shoulder to make sure everything is healing alright, and then I'll leave you to your business. Although I don't want you to move much- or at all really. Irritating your wounds would just cause problems, and they might not heal well. I want you to stay in bed and try not to move around too much. Then, if everything goes fine, and you're healing, then I'd say you could go back to school in a week or so with just a cast and a few bandages. How does that sound?"

Jem smiled. "That quickly? That sounds great."

Atticus nodded. "So Scout, that means you and I have to be extra thoughtful, and help Jem when he needs it." I started pouting. "Now I mean it, Scout. Your brother needs to rest. I want you to be nice and help him with things. Understand?" I frowned, but nodded.

"Yes sir," I said dejectedly. Jem grinned widely.

"A week of no school, my sister waiting on me head and foot? A guy could get used to this." Everyone laughed, except me. I stood there wanting to break his other arm.

"Yes sir, this is gonna be a good week," Jem said cheekily. I just couldn't wait for it to be over.

* * *

**A/N: Not the best or the longest chapter I've ever written, but there you go. I hope you like it anyway. And don't forget to Review! I love them!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own To Kill a Mockingbird. This is just for pure entertainment. And because I love Atticus **


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